


I Fear for the Winners (Day One- Holding Hands)

by swampslip



Series: Flufftober 2020 [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Flufftober 2020, Holding Hands, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, Tenderness, i don't think i know how to write fluff uhhh, listen if it doesn't end bad it's fluff to me my criteria is skewed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26761696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swampslip/pseuds/swampslip
Summary: “Who wins in this way o’ life?”“Who wins in any life?”
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Series: Flufftober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950073
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	I Fear for the Winners (Day One- Holding Hands)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Pray by Sam Smith](https://open.spotify.com/track/59ljpSFcgtfWJKS3vqG27R?si=p3poFwsiSyipuASTIYqWTQ)
> 
> it's fluffy enough shuddup happy/hopeful ending=fluff adsfbgfhb

“Arthur,” John whispers, “You still mad at me?”

Arthur glances at him with a frown, sitting in their usual spot on the long log next to the fire. 

“C’mon, please, I’m sorry,” John nudges the older man with his knee, feels his stomach turning with anxiety. 

“It’s fine,” Arthur mutters lowly, “Knock it off.”

“… Alright,” John says weakly, hesitating then scooting away to give Arthur more space. 

He hadn’t been serious, really, just speculative. 

_‘You ever wanna do somethin’… Else?’_

He’d asked it while he and Arthur were riding back to camp, both covered in blood. 

He hadn’t been serious, but Arthur took it that way.

Arthur sighs quietly and stands, getting himself a second helping of stew and another chunk of bread. 

When he sits back down it’s closer to John.

The older man holds out the chunk of bread and John tentatively takes it, pressing his lips together and meeting Arthur’s eyes. 

Arthur’s nose wrinkles, he looks down at his bowl, picking up and then dropping the spoon with a metal-on-metal clinking. 

“Why?” Arthur whispers, glances across the fire and then sideways to John, “No- Wait. Later.”

“… Alright,” John say again slowly, dips his bread in Arthur’s stew, the older man just rolling his eyes in response and elbowing him away.

\--

Footsteps approach him while he’s on guard duty and the back of his neck prickles with fear. 

They hesitate, in the dark, in the woods and John starts to shift, moving to aim his rifle. 

“It’s later,” Arthur says softly, but it carries in the quiet night. 

“Now?”

_“Why?”_

“I… Look,” John says with a huff, “I didn’t mean it like I was gonna up and pack as soon as we got to camp.”

“Then how _did_ you mean it?”

“Like I wasn’t particularly happy ‘bout bein’ drenched in blood and I was just thinkin’ out loud,” John mutters, “Didn’t mean to upset you.”

Arthur shifts in front of him and John sees the older man’s brows furrow as he steps closer. 

“ _Do_ you?”

“Do I what?”

“Ever wanna do somethin’ else?”

“… Don’t make me a liar, Art.”

“The hell does that mean?” Arthur steps closer and nudges John over on the stump, sitting next to the younger man with a put-upon sigh. 

“You’re either gonna get mad or I’m gonna lie,” John says weakly. 

“So, you have.”

“Yeah, ‘course, Christ, Arthur,” John lays the rifle in his lap and looks at the older man, “Who wins in this way o’ life?”

“Who wins in any life?”

“Don’t be- Be-” John makes a frustrated noise, “Whatever the hell it is Hosea says you are when you get like this.”

“Cynical,” Arthur mutters, “I ain’t.”

“You are.”

Arthur curses under his breath and grabs John’s hand off the barrel of the rifle and squeezes it tightly. 

“… What are you doin’?” John whispers. 

“Don’t… Don’t say anythin’ like this ‘round Dutch, alright?” Arthur rubs his thumb roughly down the length of John’s, “And don’t repeat what I’m ‘bout to say.”

John holds his breath, looking down at their hands and then up at Arthur’s closed-off expression. 

“You could,” Arthur says hoarsely, “You got time.”

“I… I wasn’t-”

“Not now, and not…” Arthur sniffs indelicately and pulls John’s hand into his lap, cradling it with both his own, “I wouldn’t think you’d just… Betray us, or nothin’ like that, but if…”

Arthur goes quiet for a moment and squeezes John’s hand again. 

“If what?” John asks and fights to turn his hand in Arthur’s hands and slowly lock their fingers together, “I don’t got a plan to.”

“If somethin’ goes wrong, real wrong,” Arthur says quietly, “You could.”

“I don’t-”

“I’d rather you leave me than you rot in some prison or catch a noose or-”

“Alright,” John says quickly, hoarsely as Arthur starts to speak more erratically, cutting the older man off.

They sit in silence for a few minutes and John just watches the older man play with his fingers. 

“Leave _you_?” John whispers. 

Arthur shakes his head dismissively and stares out into the woods, still clutching John’s hand. 


End file.
